The Space Between
by CreedsGalBirdy
Summary: Sabretooth/Birdy/Forge - After being forced to join X-Factor, Sabretooth runs into a forgotten friend. Unfortunately for Creed, Birdy's moved on and found a life of her own without him.
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** The Space Between (v2.0)

**Rating:** M - While it's a relatively safe story, it does involve Sabretooth so language may become an issue. Plus, it's schmooshy, romantic stuff.

**Summary:** Sabretooth's former assistant, Birdy, has moved on with her life without him.

**Timeline:** Takes place after Sabretooth: Death Hunt #4 through X-Factor #136 with Forge escaping without injury.

_Author's Notes: Recently, I got a review on this story, the OLD version of this story, and it got me thinking about finishing where I'd left off. But...I didn't like what I'd written. So, I rewrote it. Most of it. As per FF.N's rules, I couldn't leave the original up and publish another unless I changed the title AND the first chapter. But chapter 1 was what I liked most about the story so, that was a no go. If you're familiar with this story, you'll see some things are the same, but a lot of things are different. Especially the direction. Concrit is always welcomed here so please leave some if you have the chance. Also, reading some of my other Sabretooth/Birdy fics is not required but, hey, it can't hurt either!_

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"Teams, check in."

"Team two, all clear. Nothin' but suits and their Starbucks this way. Over."

"We've got the same over here, Wildchild. What about your end of town, Polaris? Has Creed been able to pick up the target's scent? Over."

"If he has, Forge, he's not telling. He went down streetside. I'm tracking him by the tracer in his collar. So far, all's quiet. How 'bout it, Creed? Any sign of Foggerty?"

The mutant known as Sabretooth doesn't reply immediately. He knows that holding off on a response will make his teammates slightly nervous. So, with a smile, he stays silent.

"Creed, do you copy?" Polaris waits patiently for a reply. Before she was a member of X-Factor, even before she was an X-Man, Lorna Dane was an unwilling member of the mutant killing team known as the Marauders. She's worked beside Victor Creed before and knows what kind of mind games he likes to play. An annoyed sigh precedes her voice over the com-set. "Answer the question, Creed. Any sign of the target?" The headsets crackle before the deep voice of Sabretooth answers.

"Lorna, baby, you really oughta learn to relax. I think I timed you at 2.3 seconds. I pissed you off in record time."

"Whatever, Creed. Any sign of Foggerty?"

"Nah. I keep tellin' y'all. That guy took off soon as he heard he was wanted. A real scaredy-cat type. He's long gone."

"I think Creed's right on this one, team. Let's pack it in, Forge."

"All right, Val. Wildchild and Mystique, we'll meet you at First and Helmway. Polaris and Creed, meet up at Fifth and Johnston."

"Oh, goody. If we make it home in time I can still catch Doctor Phil."

"Cut the chatter, Raven, and move out."

"Geez, Val. Snippy, snippy."

Victor Creed starts towards the meeting point three blocks away. Lunchtime rush has the sidewalk packed with businessmen and women racing to get their meal and maybe a smoke in before they have to be back at their desks and their daytime tasks. Creed towers over most of the people and his massive size gives the throng reason enough to part as he makes his way down the sidewalk. After a block, he passes by a city park, filled with mothers and their little ones enjoying the afternoon sun. The swings creak rhythmically as children squeal to be pushed higher and higher, pumping their little legs, trying to fly. The monotonous tune of an ice cream cart is barely heard over the noise of the children which mingles with the various sounds of the city.

The reluctant government agent shakes his head in pity as he walks past the park. "A waste o' meat, the lot of 'em," he murmurs to himself when a familiar scent tickles his senses. His head snaps up and he squints his eyes, adjusting them to the light of the day and to better scan the area for the face to match the scent. Standing still he inhales again, more deeply this time, to confirm what his brain and what his memory are both telling him. "Ain't no way," he reminds himself, knowing that that scent has been long dead for years now. He draws in one more breath to determine the direction of the scent and finds that it leads him into the park. Treading lightly through the playground, around screaming and laughing children, the hunter follows the scent that the wind carries to him. And then he sees it.

Yellow. A color seen every day. A color that makes you think of something bright and cheerful. Something full of life and happiness. The way the sun reflects on it makes Victor think of gold. It also reminds him of something he lost, bringing with the memory a painful tightening in his chest. As he draws near, a doubtful yet hopeful litany is repeated in his mind. _It can't be, it can't be, it can't be. Please, it can't be. _

For the first time Victor can remember, he's nervous. He doesn't dare tell himself that he's scared. But, oddly, he reasons with himself it's okay to be nervous. With a trembling hand, he reaches out to touch the shoulder of the woman, her back to him and her long hair creating a golden waterfall he'd be more than happy to drown in... again. He lightly rests his large hand on her shoulder, feeling the softness of her hair under his calloused fingertips, once more bringing forth memories he'd hoped he had banished from his mind. The shimmering effect of the sun on her hair creates a golden halo as she turns to face him. He swallows hard, knowing that the eyes that look back at him will be the same blue eyes that closed for what he thought would be forever years before when his own son took her life.

For a brief moment for Victor Creed there is no movement, there is no sound, or smell or even feeling. The only thing he knows is what he sees before his own eyes. The yellow turned to gold, the blue of the eyes and the pink of the lips contradict what he has known for the past four years as he whispers her name, "Birdy?"

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	2. Chapter 2

* * *

She turns at the name. She hasn't heard it in years except inside her own head, when she's talking to herself and only out of habit, really. So used to the nickname she often felt like she was betraying her loyalty to him when she gave her name, her _real_ name, as something else. She sees the man behind her, his familiar and foreboding figure casting a shadow across her face as she looks up. A quick inhalation catches in her throat before she presses her lips together, silencing her surprise. She swallows as her heart begins a fast and scary rhythm, a pounding beat in her ears. It's so loud, she almost doesn't hear him ask, "What're you doin'?"

She opens her mouth to respond, shock, confusion and just a little fear, preventing any words from forming. Instead, a small insistent voice breaks through the chilly scene. "Momma. I don' wan' my ice cream anymore." Birdy looks down at the small child next to her, and as if on auto-pilot, begins the task of cleaning up the chocolate-covered little girl.

She takes the dripping cone from the little girl and looks about for a trashcan. Spotting one nearby, she holds the mess up to Victor and nods in the can's direction. "Would you mind? There's a trashcan over by the vendor's cart," Birdy informs him, nodding her head in the direction behind him. With a look of insult, he takes the melting confection with two fingers and does as instructed.

Birdy takes the little girl's arm, leading her to a wooden bench near the edge of the playground. Careful of sticky hands, she picks the child up and sets her down on the bench. She digs through a backpack that's still hanging sideways off of one shoulder and pulls out a box of baby wipes. "Here, sweetie. Face first," she instructs the girl, handing her the towelette. On his way back from the trashcan, Victor watches in quiet study the ease with which Birdy handles the minor calamity of sticky fingers.

"You gonna tell me what's goin' on here?" he demands as she offers him one of the disposable towels. He takes it, wiping any sugary residue from his hands and drops the towelette to the ground. He grabs Birdy's shoulder then, and makes her face him. "I suffered 'cause'a you. Now tell me where you been." His subdued tone sends a chill down Birdy's spine. She stares hard at him. Instinct reminds her to not back down from his challenge. He'll see it as a sign of weakness and strike.

Birdy doesn't even blink when Victor leans in closer, trying his best to intimidate her. "Baby. Go play, alright? Momma's gonna catch up with an old friend." The little girl doesn't wait a beat. She hops off the bench and runs to the play area, her golden pigtails bouncing in the sun. Birdy then backs up a step and turns to sit on the bench, settling the backpack next to her.

Victor takes a place next to Birdy on the bench. "Start talkin', woman. I ain't here for a play date." He scans the park, keeping an eye out for any one of his teammates. He knows his detour won't go unnoticed for long.

"What's there to say? You stepped over my body on your way to Xavier's for your next hit. Did you really expect me to show up and bail you out? I saw my out and I took it." The spite in Birdy's voice is unmistakable. He left her for dead, so she left him to rot. Their own little version of quid-pro-quo. In truth, when she'd found out he was at Xavier's she was relieved. Not because he was under a secure lock-and-key, but because they might actually try to help him. And if he'd gone to them on his own? He might actually want the help. It was a turning point for him that she didn't want to derail so she kept away and stayed under the radar in case anyone was looking. She picked up her daughter from the couple she'd asked to watch her and made a new life for herself and child far away from the dark, gritty life of assassins and mercenaries.

"You could'a said somethin'. Any time. A phone call or a singin' telegram to tell me you were alive." He stops, not wanting to show how much the abandonment really hurt. "'Sides, Xavier didn't help me anyhow. Just locked me up an' told me to help myself." The bitter taste of resentment floods his mouth and he swallows it back down. "Sanctimonious pricks. Never had any intention of helping me. Not like you did," he admits quietly. He looks at her and she barely notices the wistfulness that crosses his features.

Birdy looks out across the playground. She watches as their daughter climbs the ladder of the slide, waiting her turn at the top. "I'm sorry you had to go through that," she says automatically. She didn't know if she really was sorry or if she was glad, in some small way, he had suffered. Unexpectedly, her heart twists at the thought. No, she tells herself, she doesn't enjoy the thought of Victor Creed suffering at the hands of the people he hates most. She doubts it was as bad as he's making it out. What little she knows of the X-Men, she knows they are civil and fair people. But for someone like Victor Creed, a man who needed his freedom, being locked up anywhere, be it a room at The Ritz or a basement cell, is still torture.

"It wouldn't've worked. We both know that. You were different then. Different from now. I can tell there's been a change. But that Victor Creed I knew…he didn't want the life I wanted. You liked who you were and not answering for anything. As much as I wanted to stay with you, I wanted to be with my kid. "

"Our kid," he interjects.

"My kid," Birdy asserts. "You didn't even sign the birth certificate, remember?" She sighs. It's a weary sound. "Look, we had some good times. But that was a long time ago and we're both different people now. Besides, the same fears I had then still apply. I don't want anyone knowing she's your daughter. It makes her a target."

"That's a bullshit excuse and you know it, Birdy." He's starting to get annoyed, she knows. Her logic is winning out over his.

"Whatever. It's not like you're in any position to start playing Super Dad so I don't see what it matters." She inclines her head a bit, acknowledging the silver band around his neck.

He lets out a gruff snort. "Yeah, well. Lesser of the two evils. After I busted outta Xavier's, I was given an offer I couldn't refuse." He pauses to reflect on that dark night. He was at his wits end, ready and willing to take out anyone who got in his way. His little trick of playing the docile kitty after his tussle with Wolverine had worked on the one person he knew had the power to take out the inches of concrete and steel that stood between him and freedom. Boomer was primed, so to speak, all he had to do was light the fuse. Throwing it all back in her face, humiliating her, was all that was needed. The concussive blast that broke him from his chains also served to crumble the walls of his cell. And the fireball that followed did little more than singe his hair. And Psylocke? Sinking his claws into that self-righteous bitch was just icing on the cake. He chuckles and basks in the memory of that long awaited taste of freedom.

"You finished?" Birdy quirks an eyebrow, knowing full well what he's up to.

"Almost. That one's a keeper for sure," he says with a wink. He stretches back, his arms resting on the back of the bench. His eyes scan the area, ticking off the important items from the not-so important ones. He catches sight of the little blonde girl Birdy had taken care of moments ago. His girl. His kid. He watches as she runs around with the other children, smiling and laughing. He wills himself to see the resemblance but to him they all look the same. Bright eyes and cherubic faces. Deep down, he wants to see her as a part of him, to find that connection, but the sensation is unfamiliar and he can't force it. In a flash, the child unknowingly shows herself to him and he sees what joins them together.

Crouched low behind part of the playground equipment, he barely sees the top of her blonde head. She moves slowly, peeking out behind her shelter, her eyes never moving, unblinking, trained on another child playing on a rocking horse. The boy rocks the horse hard, back and forth, the fat steel spring underneath groaning with the movement. Victor watches as his daughter creeps in slowly, a pink and denim predator, nearly ready to strike. The scene is oblivious to anyone else, but he knows what the stalking of prey looks like and he taps Birdy to get her attention, and nods in Emma's direction. She sets aside the bag she's been digging through to see what has caught Victor's interest.

Birdy glances out across the playground, scanning for her daughter, and frowns when she spots her. "Not again," Birdy says with a touch of annoyance and moves to stand.

Victor grabs her arm, stopping her. "Whoa. Just hang on a sec. I wanna see this."

"Well, I don't. She knows better and I'm not in the mood to deal with it." Birdy pulls her arm free from the slack grip Victor has on her and strides through the mass of children playing and running with determined ease. She plants herself between Emma and the boy, her Mommy stance in full effect.

For her part, Emma doesn't whine or complain. She knows she's been caught and she grudgingly, and slowly, gets up and walks back to the bench kicking at mulch all the way with Birdy following behind. The little girl climbs up onto the bench and puts herself on the far side, away from the tall stranger her mother was talking with. She settles down, pulling a juice box from Birdy's bag.

"Hell, you ain't no fun, woman," Victor chides.

Birdy makes a bee-line for Emma, picking up the backpack and slinging it over one shoulder. "Somebody's gotta be the parent." She reaches out a hand for Emma to take, "C'mon baby. Time to go."

"Already? But I just got here," Victor mocks. "What's the rush?"

"We got someplace to be." Birdy replies sharply. Emma takes her mother's hand and slides off the bench. Her eyes never leave the stranger's face, all the while sipping her juice box.

"Don'tcha wanna at least gimme yer phone number? Might wanna come by an' see ya someday." His humorous tone doesn't make so much as a dent in Birdy's armor and she shakes her head.

"I don't think that's a good idea. We don't need your kinda trouble."

Creed chuckles. "_My_ kinda trouble? Hell, that's the best kind" He shrugs. "Just as well. Warden's comin' anyway." Creed takes a few steps toward the park's exit and nods to Birdy. "Be seein' ya."

A familiar voice calls out. "You get lost on the way back, Creed?" A tall figure approaches the trio, his dark trench coat concealing the black suit and holsters he's wearing underneath. The sight of him worries Birdy and she moves to stand in front of her daughter, shielding her from sight. But Emma chances a peek to see who the newcomer is. Birdy looks down at her daughter, a stern look on her face and Emma returns to her place behind her mother's legs.

"Nah. I just wanted to tromp through the roses, Forge. What? You worried I'm gonna make my great escape on your watch?" Creed's mocking tone is laced with contempt for the agent.

"Not one bit, Creed. But if I need to shorten the leash, I'd be more than happy to." Forge turns his hand, a small device in his palm lets Victor know that compliance is only a push of a button away. He knows he may not be able to take Victor Creed in a fight, but he has the technology at his disposal to make sure he never has to. He stares hard at the feral mutant and gives the order, "Move out." Forge looks at Birdy and asks, "You alright, miss?" knowing that an encounter with Sabretooth can shake anyone. Her eyes move from him to her former employer and she nods shakily.

A low growl of warning emanates from Victor but with a look from Forge he obeys, pushing past his jail keeper and stalking toward the park's exit. Forge glances back at Birdy once more before following Creed out of the park to the team's waiting transport.

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	3. Chapter 3

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Birdy rushed up the steps leading to her front door, Emma bouncing on her hip. Fumbling with her keys, she unlocks the front door to the brownstone rental. Once inside she sets her daughter on the sofa and flips on the TV to keep the child occupied while she hurriedly makes arrangements. Seeing Victor in the park had been a frightening surprise and something said Forge wouldn't be far behind her. When she'd caught Forge's eye she knew immediately she should have looked away sooner. Even though he gave no indication, Birdy was certain Victor caught their little exchange. He might write it off as nothing but that was unlikely. Victor would put the seconds-long glance together and figure out that Birdy and Forge knew one another. And even though she and Victor had long since been apart, in his mind, she still belonged to him and he would make sure everyone knew it.

Up the stairs and into her bedroom, Birdy pulls out a large suitcase from the back of the closet and slings it onto the bed. Throwing open the top, she turns and opens all the dresser drawers, grabbing whatever is inside and stuffing it into the case. Satisfied she'd taken enough from the drawers, she pulls clothing from the hangers in the closet, leaving them swinging on the bar. She leaves her room and starts the process again in Emma's room. Along with clothes and shoes, she grabs a few toys she knows to be her daughter's favorites, not wanting to leave them behind. She zips the case shut and sets it at the top of the stairs. Birdy goes back to her closet and digs out another case and heads for the bathroom. She fills the bag with as many toiletries as she can, cramming her hair dryer and other styling tools on top before zipping it shut. Leaving the bathroom, she drops the bag next to Emma's.

On the way back into her bedroom there's a heavy knock at the door. Birdy freezes for the first time since leaving the park. A quick mental scan tells her who is there. Her heart twists and she lets out a sad, exasperated sigh. She had hoped to make a quick getaway. She didn't want to make a scene or draw out some long, dramatic goodbye. She's already convinced herself that leaving town is her only option. Birdy makes her way down the stairs, half dreading the confrontation that is to come. She stops, her hand on the door knob, and looks at her daughter. She tells herself she's doing this for Emma, to keep her safe. No matter how serenely Victor had behaved in the park, Birdy knows him more intimately than he knows himself and she can imagine the rage he's nursing at seeing her alive, hiding away from him. Birdy closes her eyes and takes a cleansing breath, steeling herself for the battle ahead. She doesn't want a fight and she hopes he'll see reason and let her go. Again, she feels that crushing throb in her chest, knowing full well she is about to abandon the most promising thing she's felt in a long time, and opens the door.

A second more insistent knock sounds, resonating urgency. If Birdy knew him the way he hoped she did, it'd best if she just relinquished and opened up because he's not going anywhere until he's had the chance to talk with her. As he raises his hand to knock a third time, the black lacquered door swings open, the brass knocker clanking with the movement. The swift opening of the door reveals Birdy's flushed face as she looks up at him and stands impassive in the doorway. He watches her watching him and realizes he's going to have to make the first move. Forge raise an eyebrow and simply asks, "Are you going to let me in?"

"I'm actually kinda busy right now. I'll call you later, okay?" Not waiting for an answer, Birdy quickly swings the door closed.

Forge's hand comes up to stop the motion. "Please. After all this time, I have a right, don't I?" For a moment, Birdy feels herself falter. She knows that by leaving Victor behind she's also leaving Forge behind and that is a loss she doesn't want to face.

Forge quietly waits for Birdy to let him in. A cheery melody drifts from the living room about a little guy and his pineapple under the sea. Forge remembers the time of day and knows that Emma is seated on the sofa, watching her favorite cartoon. A quick glance inside and he sees the over-stuffed bags at the top of the stairs. Birdy's going to skip town. The idea strikes him acutely and a dull ache radiates from his core. Hurt and anger coils in his chest but he calmly releases their bitter sting. He knows getting mad at Birdy isn't going to keep her here. She needs his assurances, his promises and his protection from all her evils, real or imagined. He knows he'll have to tread lightly.

The quiet standoff in the doorway only lasts seconds before Birdy slumps her shoulders in defeat and opens the door wider, allowing Forge the entrance he silently asks for. He turns to Birdy and she takes extra care in closing and locking the door, an obvious attempt to delay their conversation. When she is sure the latches are secure, she turns and presses her back against the door and looks up at Forge, guilt blushing her face. She finds she can't hold his piercing gaze for long and casts her eyes elsewhere.

"I know what you're thinking but, I promise you, it'll be alright."

"I'm the telepath, remember?" Birdy says, her half-hearted attempt at warming the chill between them bringing a smile to Forge's face.

He takes a step closer, his hand brushing a strand of blonde from her face, fallen loose from her ponytail. "That's right. You are. So, you know when I say everything's going to be alright, I'm telling you the truth."

Birdy leans into his gentle touch and meets his eyes again. She doesn't need to read his mind to believe him. He had promised her once before he would keep her safe and she never doubted his desire. His ability, however? If Sabretooth wanted her, there would be no one who could stop him, no matter the promises made.

"I know, but…" Birdy leaves the thought unfinished. This is an all-too familiar topic for them. Birdy's greatest fear is that someone would try to use her daughter, Sabretooth's daughter, for some half-cocked revenge plan. Victor Creed has many enemies and it was the fear of retaliation that motivated Birdy to remove their infant child from the home they shared years ago. Victor once told Birdy that no one would dare try such an act against him and if they did, he'd make sure they paid in blood. But Birdy didn't want to take the chance. Motherhood had changed her. The thrill of chasing down a contract through a dark alleyway didn't hold the same excitement it once did. Victor still got a charge from it…from the hunt, the kill. But not Birdy. And she wanted to keep all those evil, dirty, foul things from her child. She wasn't about to gamble with her baby's life. Regardless of what Victor said, how could she be sure he would even care? Inside his mind, he was still the same sick, twisted psycho she'd come to have sorta warm feelings for. But her priorities had changed. His hadn't. That's when she knew she had to leave him. She knew she would suffer for sending the baby away. To Victor, it was more about possession than anything else. They belonged to him, whether he wanted them or not and any subordinate behavior from Birdy would be punishable with tears and pain. What she didn't know was how far he would go. Would he kill her? Give her a solid beating? Was her telepathic ability to quiet his raging mind worth the betrayal?

In the end, he had simply walked away. Their relationship shifted and turned back to that of employer/employee, however twisted and unconventional. It was only during their confrontation with Victor's son, Graydon, did Birdy finally find a way out of her pseudo-imprisonment. Getting stabbed in the chest was an unfortunate and painful consequence but she was able to use the opportunity to implant in Victor's mind the mental image that she had died. He would move on, find his telepathic fix somewhere else, and forget all about her and the kid. It wasn't until today that she discovered he hadn't really forgotten her at all. She feels a flicker of sorrow for Victor then.

With the weight of her thoughts showing on her face, Forge pulls Birdy close. She rests her head in the center of his chest and he feels her slender arms reciprocate the embrace. "No 'buts', okay?"

Birdy listens to the strong, steady beat of Forge's heart. She can feel the warmth of his body through the stretch-Kevlar suit he's wearing and her telepathic ability reaches out to find the calming waves of security he offers her. A pang of regret resonates in her mind for her earlier thoughts of leaving D.C., and him, caused by the sudden fear upon seeing her former lover. She nods gently as he whispers into her hair, "Atta girl."

Birdy pulls away and looks up at him. "I'm sorry. I just…" Her explanation flounders with a lop-sided shrug. "It's just that we've been so careful and he was right there. I wouldn't have put it past him to rip my throat out, right there in the park."

Forge gives her shoulders a reassuring squeeze. "Don't worry. He couldn't hurt a fly with that collar on. It monitors his heart rate, brain waves. If he even thinks about it, a pretty intense electric shock will bring him back to reality," he says.

"One of your little toys?"

"I despise that thing," Forge admits, "but it's necessary for us to be able to keep control of Creed on missions."

"Control _him? _Well, good luck with _that,"_ Birdy adds with a roll of her eyes. Her mood from earlier has lifted and cements her belief that Forge has the innate ability to make her feel instantly better. She's commented on this to him before, saying it must be a secondary mutation, but he just chuckles at the idea. Her sarcasm today earns her a smile and a shake of his head, Forge knowing _exactly_ what she means.

"Well, I'd better get back before someone misses me." Forge starts for the door before being interrupted by the house's youngest occupant squealing his name.

"Forge!" A pink blur crashes into his legs and he reaches down to lift up the little girl. Careful of his shoulder holsters, he settles Emma on his hip. "Are you gonna leave and not say anything to me?" she asks incredulously, crossing her arms, childish pout in full effect.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart. I didn't want to interrupt your Sponge Bob."

Emma stares at him as if to say, _"You gotta be kidding me."_ Instead, she snakes her arms around his neck, tipping her head to his shoulder and says, "But I like you more than Sponge Bob. An' Momma told me not to say hi when I saw you at the park."

"Oh?" Forge had been curious about the little girl's silence at the park. Emma was a friendly child, had been since the day they'd first met. And when she didn't so much as wave to him earlier he wondered if Creed's presence had silenced her. Even at her young age, she exhibited certain characteristics that could only be explained as an inheritance of her biological father's mutation. And while there was no one with experience to educate her, to help her learn about her abilities, Emma knew how to use her mutant powers of enhanced sight, smell and other traits common in ferals. It was rare to find an individual displaying their mutation before puberty, but not completely unheard of. It often made Forge wonder about Creed's own childhood and when his mutation appeared.

"Yeah," she says, nodding. "Momma told me in my head to be quiet and stay behind her."

"So that explains it." Forge gives Birdy a nod and she smiles. "Well," he says, his attention back on Emma, "you did a very good job." The little girl beams at the compliment. Birdy reaches out for Emma and Forge lets her take the girl from his arms.

"We'd better let you go," she says, setting her daughter down. Emma makes a noise of protest but Birdy quiets her. "No. He has to go back to work." She looks up at him, "Maybe he'll be back tonight for dinner?"

Forge lets out a breath. "Maybe. Gotta see how things play out when I get back." Birdy nods her head, understanding. Their relationship has been a strange dance of keeping Forge's "professional life" as a government agent as far from their lives together as possible. At first, it felt very one-sided for both of them. Never going to his place, never discussing his work, and planning dates around his atypical schedule. But they soon fell into an easy rhythm with the biggest concern, for Birdy at least, of keeping her and her daughter under the radar of anyone who might be looking for them.

It had gone unspoken between them, but they both knew Birdy's past, the things she'd done before and during her time as Victor Creed's associate. And even though the lives she'd taken, or was an accomplice to taking, were typically labeled as 'bad people', the United States justice system felt that murder was murder. She was a wanted woman and she had no intention of getting caught. There had been some close calls, but that's when her mutant talent for telepathy came in handy. Wiping a mind was easy enough but wiping minds and adding new memories to cover her tracks could get tricky. She didn't want to make a habit out of erasing people's thoughts and recollections so she did what she could to stay out of trouble. So, Birdy moved herself and her daughter around, keeping their social circle loose and small so that when they inevitably had to leave it would be easier on Emma. Staying in D.C. was risky, what with the whole city crawling with agents from various government offices. But they'd settled in comfortably and had no intention of leaving anytime soon. Thanks to Forge, crisis averted…for today, anyway.

He leans in and gives Birdy a quick kiss on the cheek before bending down to touch his lips to Emma's head. "I'll try to call, either way."

"Okay," Birdy replies, following him to the door.

He flips the locks and opens the door, knocking on the wood as he crosses the threshold, "Lock up."

"Will do," she says as he descends the concrete steps to the sidewalk, the hem of his black trench coat flapping with the motion. They both give a quick wave before she closes the door.

* * *

_Author's Notes: The next chapter will be a flashback chapter, just FYI. I'm a huge fan of LOST and I think their method of storytelling infiltrated my method of fanfiction writing. From now on, any chapter that will be a flashback will be indicated by the "time change" at the top of the chapter before the story begins. Also, reviews are still welcomed...don't be shy!_

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	4. Chapter 4

_One Year Earlier_

"Oh, God. I am so sorry!" The young woman kneels down and hurriedly begins gathering the books and magazines scattered on the floor, flipping them face-up. "It's just that I was looking back at my daughter and -"

"No need to apologize," interrupts the man who is kneeling likewise in front of her, trying to sort through their combined mess. "I was a little buried in my book," he admits with some chagrin. "I should've been watching where I was going." He gives her a pleasant smile that she returns. They both stand, bringing their disarranged stacks with them. Fumbling with some of the slippery plastic wrapped magazines, they try to hand off items that belong to the other while collecting their own.

A small voice speaks, offering up another lost article, "Here, Momma." A little girl hands the woman a copy of _Popular Mechanics_ who passes it over to the man.

He straightens his armload of reading material, adding the magazine to the top. "Ah, thank you." He hands her one of her items, a city map, and asks, "Going on a trip?"

She takes the folded paper. "Hm? Oh, no, no," she says, shaking her head. "Actually, we just moved into town so I thought I'd look over some maps. Ya know, get a feel for where places are, street names. Stuff like that."

The man nods in approval. "Good idea. D.C. can be a little intimidating to newcomers but once you get an idea of where you're going, you'll be fine. And if you're near the Mall, you can usually find someone to help point you in the right direction." He quickly adds, "That's the National Mall. Not a, uh, shopping mall."

"Right," she chuckles. "That's good to know. Thank you." The blonde woman smiles at the man again, taking in his dark eyes and strong features. She tries not to make it obvious but she thinks she may recognize him.

Before the exchange can become awkward in the growing silence, the little girl speaks again, directing her question to the man before her. "Why is your hand shiny?"

Embarrassed, the woman quickly, but gently, reprimands her daughter. "Emma sweetie, we don't ask questions like that," she explains to the little girl. "I'm sorry," she apologizes to the man, "she's really inquisitive."

"Don't worry. It's all right," he says, brushing off the apology. He goes down on one knee in front of the girl. "Emma, is it?" She nods. "Well, Emma, how old are you?"

She holds up a hand, her thumb tucked toward the palm and ticks off with her other hand, touching each fingertip, "One. Two. Three. Four. I'm four."

"Very good," he nods approvingly. "I'll tell you a story, Emma. Many, many years ago, before you were born," he says, holding up his metal hand mimicking her gesture from before, "more than four years ago, I got hurt pretty bad. And when I woke up in the hospital, I discovered I'd lost my hand and my leg."

"You _lost_ 'em?" Emma asks doubtfully.

"Yep. This hand," he says, wiggling the fingers of his right hand, "and this leg." He raps on his right thigh with the hand, the metal dinging faintly, though muffled by his jeans. "When the doctors said I could go home, I decided I would just make new ones. And that's what I did." He waits for her to absorb this, the disbelief obvious on her face. Her clear blue eyes flicker between his face and hand.

Finally accepting what the man says as fact, she smiles. He can't help but notice the taper of her canines, their perfect points. "Can I touch it?" she asks quietly.

"I don't know." He looks up at her mother, "Mom? Is it all right?"

She nods her head, adding, "If it's all right with you."

The man nods once in return and holds out his right hand to the little girl, inviting her to take it. She reaches for it slowly, grasping it as though they are sharing a handshake. Her hand curls around two of his fingers and she gently turns his palm up. Before pulling away completely, she taps his knuckle with her fingertip, testing the metal. She smiles again, pleased with her new discovery. "Neat."

"Thank you. I think it's pretty neat myself." He stands and addresses the girl's mother, "Well, it was nice running into you. Literally." He pauses then nods indicating the collection of maps in her arms. "I hope you're able to find your way around without too much trouble."

"Thanks. I'm sure we'll be okay." The woman moves her collection of books from one arm to the other, reaching for the girl to take her hand and starts for the checkout area. "Nice meeting you," she calls back to him.

"Nice meeting you," he returns. Emma trails behind her mother, looking back at the man as they walk away. The little girl smiles once more, waves and receives a wave back from him with the hand that had caught her attention. The man heads down the nearest aisle, temporarily forgetting why he'd taken that direction. He feigns interest in a book on the shelf and watches as the mother and daughter pay for their purchases and leave. Acting on a hunch, he pulls out a small, slim, rectangular device and holds it up. He lines up a shot, zooming in on the woman's face. From here he has a clear shot through the large windows of the storefront and he snaps a photo before slipping the device back into his pocket. Ready to leave, he makes his way up to the same register the woman had used and places his purchases on the counter.

"Find everything alright, man?" the young man behind the counter asks. His brown curly hair is in need of a trim and he could stand a few extra meals as his well-worn concert tee hangs from his boney shoulders.

The older man nods, surreptitiously looking out the window for the blonde woman to see what direction she's gone. He notices she's still standing where he'd taken her picture. From the angle it's as if she's looking down at her daughter, talking. She goes down to match her daughter's level, disappearing from view, blocked by the store's window display. He realizes the store employee has said something to him and turns his attention back to the boy. "I'm sorry, what?"

"Dude. The babe with the baggage? Nice." The young man, _Gregg_ his crooked nametag says, puts out a fist. The older man raises an eyebrow in question and wonders if this kid actually thinks he'll acknowledge the crude comment about the woman. Gregg lowers his fist after a second and resumes ringing out the man's things. Unfortunately, Gregg doesn't stay silent. "That was _classic_ the way you were all, 'Oh, I totally ran into you. My bad.'" Gregg's sloppy use of the English language and current colloquialisms are accentuated by his various hand gestures and poor posture. "I mean, sure she's got a kid but dude! Totally hot. I'd do her in a heartbeat. For sure," he adds, punching up the total for the magazines with flourish. "Thirty-seven twenty-three is your total, my man."

_I suffered in the jungle for this?_ The man thinks to himself, amazed at the audacity and assumption of familiarity from the younger generation. He slides a credit card from his wallet and zips it through the card reader on the counter, peripherally trying to keep sight of the woman. He doesn't think she's stood up again but he can't be sure.

Gregg hands the man his receipt and offers him his bag of magazines. He takes them with a last bit of advice from Gregg, "Dude. Go for it. You will not be sorry, bro."

"Right." _I suffered in the jungle for this,_ he wearily concedes.The man takes his bag and heads toward the exit, slipping his sunglasses from his head to his face as he leaves the store.

Outside, the woman starts down the sidewalk towards her parked car when her daughter says, "Momma. I'm hungry. Can we eat now?"

She turns to answer the child and out of the corner of her eye spots the man inside the bookstore at the register, the annoying stoner kid talking to him. Though he'd said nothing to her that was inappropriate, she knew what Gregg had been thinking. Concealing her disgust as best she could, she easily blanketed the boy's mind in a cloud not unlike those he brought upon himself with his daily drug use. While she was at it, she pulled a few plugs that she didn't think he'd miss anyway. She looks down at her daughter and decides to try something. Kneeling, she starts to untie one of the little girl's shoes.

"Momma! That's my shoe!"

"I know, baby. But it looks loose so I want to make sure it's nice and tight." She tugs at the laces, ensuring they're snug and slowly wraps them back into a bow.

"It's not loose," her daughter protests. Regardless, her mother starts untying the other shoelace, pulling the laces tight. "Wanna eat," she reminds her mother of her earlier request.

The mother looks up and smiles, tapping her daughter's foot, "All better." As she stands, the man from the bookstore steps out onto the sidewalk. She looks back down at the little girl and says, "Okay, kiddo. Ready to eat?"

"Yes!"

"Well then," the woman starts slowly, "let's see what we can find." She takes the girl's hand, trying to delay their quest for lunch until the man is closer. She wants to see if he'll slow down to talk with them again. It might help her to confirm his identity. She knows she could easily look inside his mind with her mutant ability but she's worried he might be trained to detect a mental intrusion. If he is who she thinks he is, it might not be a good idea to reveal herself to him.

"Well, hello again," the man says as he walks up to them. "Not lost already, are you?"

The woman smiles genuinely. "Oh, no. Just trying to decide what to do for lunch. You wouldn't have any ideas, would you?"

"Actually, there's a nice little deli just a couple blocks up…if you don't mind the walk."

"No. Sounds great," she replies, nodding. "Whattya say, baby? Can ya make it a few more steps?"

The little girl groans melodramatically, nearly folding herself over at the waist, drawing out her response. "Okaaaaaaay." The two adults grin at her antics and her mother shakes her head.

"Only a couple blocks up? Her Highness is starting to wither away."

"Yeah," the man nods. "Two blocks up, take a right and it'll be on the left side of the street. Blue awnings out front. Ya can't miss it."

"Okay, then. Well, thanks again." She wants to say more but she's afraid it will seem forced. If she could just get an idea of who this man is, it would make her feel better. Luckily, an opportunity presents itself and she smiles at her good fortune.

"Are you comin' with us?" Emma asks the man as she squints up to look at him.

Slightly thrown off by the question, he stumbles for an answer. "Well, I don't think…uh…Mom?" He looks to the woman for assistance but gets a surprising invitation instead.

"What a nice idea, Emma. What do you say?" she asks him, "Join us?" The lack of an immediate answer causes her to backpedal a little, "Or if, you know, you're already committed or something, that's okay." She was trying not to make it sound like a come-on or like she was fishing to see if he was single.

"No, no," he was quick to respond. "I'm not, uh, not really busy." He finds himself somewhat excited to have the chance to spend more time with the woman, compiling what information on her that he can to research later.

"Okay, then. Shall we?" They start down the sidewalk, the adults side by side, when the man stops suddenly.

"I'm sorry. I haven't even introduced myself. Forgive me." He extends his hand in formal greeting, "John. Silvercloud."

She takes it and he shakes hers gently. "Bridget Morgan."

"Bridget. Nice to meet you." John says, their hands dropping away.

"Don't forget me!" Emma pipes up from between them.

"We could never," Bridget replies, one hand resting lightly on her daughter's head as they continue down the sidewalk.

Lunch had been a casual, sweeping dance between John and Bridget, neither revealing too much about themselves and keeping the conversation light. By the end of it, John had written down his phone number on a napkin for Bridget with the invitation to call once she got her phone line connected. She said she would if only he'd keep his promise to show them around the National Zoo. When John had mentioned it in conversation, he had no idea the reaction he'd get from the little girl. Apparently, she _really_ liked zoos. With lunch finished, the couple said their goodbyes. And as Bridget and Emma walked back to their car, John once again pulled the slim gadget from his pocket. He tapped the smooth surface with one finger and brought the device to his ear. "Hank? It's Forge. You guys wouldn't happen to have any files on Creed's old assistant would you?"


End file.
